


The Demon Boy of the Outcast Village

by Espisayer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 17:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer
Summary: A oneshot that came from a prompt/request on tumblr. Inspired by the Vocaloid song “A Tale of Six Trillion Years and a Night”: the story of a "demon boy" and his shunned life in a village of unwanted children.Alternate human name is used for Russia (Aleksandr). Romantic themes are implied and not overt.





	The Demon Boy of the Outcast Village

Once there stood a small village, a forgotten extension of a city that was ruled by holy men worshiped by the poor, forsaken populace as the hands and voices of God. They were the salvations of the wasteland that sprawled for miles, devastated by centuries of wars with their neighbors. That small village was where the unwanted, orphaned, or problem children were sent.

And those who were deemed “children of hell”… Though that term was, as of yet, reserved for only one child―the one with the black wings and gleaming, scarlet eyes, who hailed from one of the war mongering settlements from the north. No one knew exactly what country he was from, who birthed him, or if he ever had any siblings. Most people didn’t even know his name.

Gilbert didn’t remember, himself. Some nights, in the time between wake and sleep, he saw hazy images of people and children in forested lands. Those images may or may not have been memories, quite possibly only something conjured up by his imagination. All he truly remembered was waking up in the village one day, covered in blood with a circle of men standing around him in armor and white robes. The robed ones cursed him as a demon child while the armored ones took some kind of satisfaction out of beating him.

He didn’t look back on it with sadness, but an empty confusion. Why was he there? What had he done to deserve it?  If it evoked any emotion, it was anger, but… he tried not to think about it too hard. Avoiding trouble with anyone in the village was more important. It was difficult when you were hated all around, by other children, the adults―he tried to stay out of the guards’ sight if at all possible. He’d quickly learned that if they could catch him it was a guaranteed beating.

At least he didn’t have to live with “parents” like the other children did. He didn’t have to worry about being hurt by them and thrown around at will like a rag doll. He made a small, forgotten shack, decrepit and covered in spiderwebs, his home. It was all just a matter of survival, an instinct that came naturally for him despite not knowing why he wanted to survive or if surviving even served a purpose.

He was hated by everyone and had no one, never had anyone show him an ounce of kindness… Until he met the violet-eyed boy.

One careless night, he’d fallen asleep behind a bale of hay after long nights of wandering around scrounging for food. He came upon a bit of farmland on the far side of the village, found some discarded scraps to pick at, and then hid away until the hulking and grim farmer left.

Who knows how long he’d fallen asleep… but the softest noise had woken him with a start, and instinctively he had drawn a knife on this boy with downy, wheat-colored hair and half-buried in an old scarf. The boy didn’t run, or flinch away from where he was kneeling beside Gilbert, but he did begin to tremble while tears welled under his eyes.

Gilbert never remembered the feeling of… regret over anything he’d done. Until now. Not without reservation, but he was moved to put away his knife. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize to the quivering boy, though. At least… he didn’t think he could…

Despite Gilbert not uttering a word, the boy exhaled with intense relief and wiped at his eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to scare you… I’m s-sorry…” he mumbled, with a voice that could wither away with the slightest provocation.

Gilbert didn’t move to provoke him, though. He didn’t… do much of anything but stare. What were you supposed to do in this situation? And… why wasn’t this boy scared?

He didn’t get much time to ponder, as they were interrupted by a bellowing voice from across the farm, deep and rumbling.  _“Where did you run off to now?! Your work isn’t finished!!”_

The boy’s violet eyes grew dark with a true fear, and his skin turned pale. There was barely a moment before he stood away―but before he scurried out of the little barn, he whispered, shakily, “Umm… If you come back tomorrow… I-I can bring you food…”

Gilbert remained silent. He didn’t know what he would’ve… or could’ve said. He was still confounded that this boy… wasn’t scared at all? All the other children were. They spread rumors about curses and agony befalling anyone who came within a meter of him.

If he worked past his pride and confusion of new emotions, he remembered his survival instincts. If food was being offered, what wretched soul could refuse? And if it was a trap… Well, he wasn’t scared of death. It was amazing it hadn’t come for him before now, in his year in the village.

It was pouring, thundering rain the next day, chilled and murky and the perfect scenario for half the village children to develop hypothermia. “The demon child” fared better than some; he already had to wear a cloak most of the time to hide his wings anyway. He wouldn’t have minded the weather so much if it wasn’t just so cold…

Distrustful, Gilbert was highly reluctant to go back to the farm. Especially with that wretched ghoul of a farmer lurking in the back of his mind. He probably staked it out for about 30 minutes, hovering around the fence where he could hide between the dead tree trunks. He quickly lost track of time, distracted enough when the boy from yesterday approached him on the edge of the lot instead of meeting him in the barn.

He had another start, but stopped himself from pulling a knife this time―the boy still tensed, though. “I’m sorry…” he apologized again, still in a whisper, holding a small basket of fruit tightly. “I, uhm… I brought you something to eat… If you’re… I-If you want it…”

If he wanted it? Was that a question? Gilbert made the boy flinch, he reached out to take one so fast. Also―where did all this fruit come from?! The farm was almost as barren as the rest of the village.

He wanted to ask, but his throat closed up just thinking about it. He’d barely spoken a word since he’d woken up here. So he just sat and quickly chewed through the fruit he’d been given, moving on from one the next―finding himself staring the other boy down while they sat there for… some reason. Honestly, he didn’t know what to do with himself, but he was mildly fascinated.

He did notice he seemed to be making the boy nervous. After stammering and giving up a few times, he finally spoke again, asking, “So… uhm… Wh-What is your name? Ev… Everyone knows who you are but… not… I-I was just… wondering…” Despite the silence, the boy did try again, finally thinking to introduce himself. “I-I’m Aleksandr…”

Did Gilbert want anyone to know his name? Not really. It didn’t serve any purpose and he really didn’t care if people knew him as “the demon child.” Whether this boy introduced himself or not. As his silence persisted, the violet-eyed boy continued to squirm, fidgeting and looking embarrassed.

Gilbert had eaten through half of the basket by the time Aleksandr piped up again, meekly asking, “Are you mad at me? I… I didn’t… mean to… do anything wrong…”

This kid didn’t have a malicious bone in his body, did he? He apologized repeatedly, even after going to whatever rickly lengths it had taken to meet here with food―which he was either too nice to do or out of his mind. Either way… Gilbert still had no interest in speaking, he could at least stop letting the boy suffer like a nervous wreck.

He didn’t know why the gesture had come to him easier than speaking―maybe nothing more than a whim to touch Aleksandr’s fluffy-looking hair―but Gilbert reached out to ruffle his head as if to say “don’t worry about it.”

His hair was really soft. Gilbert dug his fingers in out of curiosity, causing Aleksandr’s mystified expression to turn bashful as a blush grew across his face. Before he could really think about the feeling, how strange it was, Gilbert experienced a semblance of amusement and grinned for the first time since he’d been there. He thought he noticed a shade of a smile before Aleksandr pulled his scarf up to hide behind it.

Maybe, if he could make one friend, if he could count on that not to go wrong, it could make things a little more bearable…

Except it couldn’t go right, could it?

People that were seen with Gilbert, who didn’t show outright contempt for him, were beaten or taken away from the village of outcasts. Where did one go when they weren’t accepted amongst outcasts anymore? Gilbert could only imagine to some kind of death sentence. So… maybe he was cursed. The rumors became true by nothing but the will of the guards of the holy men.

Aleksandr’s kindness was moving in a way Gilbert had never known before, but it was for that reason that he struggled against the need to see him and the need to stay away. He wasn’t concerned with what happened to himself, but he wanted Aleksandr to outgrow this place someday.

He got to experience exactly what happened to his “friends.”

A year later, he met a pair of twin brothers, weak from starvation, who would have probably died within a few days. He shouldn’t have gotten involved―he never did―but he had some extra food. He hadn’t counted on them following him around like puppies for the next week.

They were struck down by the guards in the middle of the street.

Gilbert wasn’t sure what he felt after that. It was a mix of heavy things that he didn’t know how to handle, so he stuffed them all down inside where he wouldn’t need to put names to them. He tried to stay by himself as much as possible. It was… unhappy, but it was what he was used to, and it worked out for everyone in the end.

It was several years later, into his early teens, that he then met a girl. Clearly a girl, but she acted like a man, using fists and anything else she could get her hands on to fight the other alley rats for food. He had several fights with her, all well and good, until he had apparently “earned her respect” and she got it into her head to try to work together with him, like some food-gathering unit.

He didn’t understand why people kept trying to make friends with him. There may not have been many paths of life in the village, but the path of being involved with him led to hell. Gilbert distanced himself from her quickly, though she was  strongheaded and persistent. Admirable, but stupid.

She was at least smart enough to keep her efforts out of sight of the guards. But her repeated attempts at making friends with him drew the ire of one of her personal friends, who had a completely wrong impression of their relationship. Her lamenting about a fight they’d had was the last Gilbert had heard of her.

It might’ve taken him a few weeks to make sure no one would find out, but Gilbert went out of his way to pay her friend back in turn and vowed to never get involved in anyone’s personal life again.

There were some nights when he wondered why he shouldn’t just roll over and die. It wasn’t depression or sadness… just emptiness and anger. What was it all worth in the end? This autonomous instinct to survive, he never understood where it came from.

When nothing mattered, life dragged on. It felt like a trillion years had passed since he’d awoken in the village, covered in blood and surrounded by wretched men spouting religion and cursing the black-winged child and his demon eyes to hell.

He never did anything to deserve this. The village thought they would be better off if he was dead, and maybe they would be. But he sure as hell would be better off if the rest of the village was dead.

It was a thought that occurred to him one night.

He didn’t know what to think the following night when the village, under pattering, dreary rain, was littered with the bodies of dead guards and the “holy men” sent by the city to purify the villagers.

It certainly wasn’t sympathy he felt. Maybe he was just… shocked. In awe, really. Who had the strength to do this? Surely it wasn’t one person? Though he also doubted the villagers were organized, intelligent, or brave enough to launch an operation this well-executed.

Gilbert could barely think straight as he followed the bodies. If they were truly all dead… then… what now? Could he just… leave? Was there anywhere he could go that wouldn’t treat him exactly the same?

His racing thoughts skidded to a halt when he turned a corner and recognized a man standing over a guard’s body. Someone he’d purposely not seen in a decade―wouldn’t have recognized him at all if not for his hair and violet eyes.

There was a dizzying influx of emotions, so much that Gilbert barely heard himself rasp, “You killed them?”

Aleksandr’s surprised expression changed to utter shock, at a loss for words for a short moment. The shock brightened up his eyes a bit. “Y-You spoke… I…”

Gilbert’s memory of him as a child briefly came back, as he sensed a hesitance or shyness. But he wasn’t scared of anything. No, he approached Aleksandr without prompting. He pulled his scarf down, touched his face, his hair, as if to check to make sure he was the same person. Something about the blush he’d elicited was… comforting in a familiar way.

Aleksandr still seemed unsure, asking quizzically, “You’re not afraid of me…?”

Gilbert shook his head. After a moment, he made a deliberate effort to speak this time―now taking note of the roughness and struggle to get it out. A stark contrast to Aleksandr’s voice, which was still almost as soft as he’d known it when they were children. “H-How did you do it…?”

He stalled, but Gilbert didn’t think he should’ve be surprised about the answer. they didn’t dwell on it long, as Aleksandr gestured up towards the sky―leading Gilbert’s gaze until he noticed an area of rain suddenly freezing into solid ice and crashing to the ground.

So… judging by the pristine, paleness to the bodies, bloating, and solid sheen… he had frozen them? On the inside? That was something Gilbert had never seen or heard of. It was incredible. It almost seemed effortless.

“They’re… really… gone? All of them…?”

“Yes…” Aleksandr told him quietly. “The villagers… they’ve all fled toward the city…”

“So it’s just me and you?”

There was a moment of silence between them as Aleksandr nodded. Then tears suddenly welled in his eyes, and he held Gilbert’s face in his hands and then dropped his head onto his shoulder, holding Gilbert close, while he said, “Let’s leave… together…”

Being close like this was unfamiliar, but… a strange, warm sensation that Gilbert didn’t mind. If only his wings were stronger, then he could’ve flown them away into the sky. But for now, he wrapped them around Aleksandr while he tried to imagine what any life different than the miserable one he’d been living would be like. He couldn’t.

Just being together would do for now.


End file.
